


Asters are Heaven's Tears

by IvoryRaven



Series: Tomarry/Harrymort one-shots [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Professor Tom Riddle, Recovery, Sane Tom Riddle, Sick Character, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvoryRaven/pseuds/IvoryRaven
Summary: Harry Potter wasn't paying attention.Professor Riddle thought it was laziness. And then it was something far worse.Or, sick Harry, comforting Tom
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Tomarry/Harrymort one-shots [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684411
Comments: 8
Kudos: 766
Collections: Corona Challenge, Harry Potter Fanfic Must Reads





	Asters are Heaven's Tears

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [de_Trices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_Trices/pseuds/de_Trices) in the [CoronaChallenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge) collection. 



> _Asters are said to be the tears of the goddess Astraea, who cried when she saw that there were no stars on Earth. They are also said to have magical healing powers._

Potter wasn’t paying attention. Again. The brat had his head down on the desk; his ink bottle had toppled over and was leaking all over his belongings, and his quill had rolled across the floor. He’d been doing this in class since the beginning of the school year, and it was getting on Professor Tom Riddle’s nerves.

“Potter!” he snapped. The boy cowered away, crouching on his chair, ink dripping down his face.

“Detention, Potter. You need to pay attention in class.”

The boy only flinched again, withdrawing into his body as though he was a tortoise and it was his shell.

Tom went back to his lesson - a lecture and demonstration of escaping an out-of-control werewolf without injuring the wolf - but not five minutes later, there came a hollow thud from Potter’s desk.

The boy had fainted. He sighed. The lesson would just have to be made up another time. “Class is dismissed. Use this new free time wisely.” They wouldn’t, of course, the majority of them would fool around with their friends and accomplish nothing. Granger might. Potter’s friend was an intelligent girl, studious, too. She and Parkinson were the most motivated students in their year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class. But the others were prone to tomfoolery and procrastination.This was the Gryffindor and Slytherin class - two Houses, which, in Tom’s opinion, were good Houses but less motivated to academics. The Gryffindors were concerned less with grades than with extra-curricular activities, and the Slytherins were the same way. The only Slytherins to truly spend a lot of time on schoolwork were those who knew it was required for a future career path. At least Hufflepuffs were dedicated, and had a good system set up with older students mentoring younger students, and the Ravenclaws studied because they wanted to.

Students began to talk among themselves, excitedly chatting about the fun they would have. He scowled at their carelessness. Had they not noticed that one of their peers had collapsed? Did they not worry about Potter?

Granger and Weasley were at the boy’s side, Granger cradling his head and Weasley crouched protectively over him.

“I won’t harm him,” Professor Riddle promised the two Gryffindors. Rather reluctantly, Weasley backed away from the boy on the ground. Tom scooped Potter up.

The boy was lighter than he had expected. Scrawnier, too. He supposed he had never seen the boy in anything other than his bulky school robes, which concealed most of the wearer’s figure, much to the chagrin of many vain students. But slumped in his arms, the boy seemed nothing more than sinew and bone.

He carried Potter all the way to the hospital wing, growing increasingly disturbed and the ease with which he did so. `The boy was remarkably light. It worried him.

“Poppy,” he called when he reached the wing. Poppy Pomfrey soon appeared from her quarters at the back of the medical ward. 

“Tom!” she greeted. “Who is this you have with you?”

“Harry Potter,” he told her, setting the boy down on a clean bed. “He fainted in class.”

“Was strenuous activity involved?”

Tom shook his head. “No. They’re learning how to defend against werewolf attacks - without harming the werewolf, of course. This was just the first lesson on werewolves in the sixth year curriculum, so it was all sitting, watching, and listening. Mr. Potter here fell asleep, and I woke him, and soon after that he collapsed. Fell right out of his chair.”

“That’s very unusual. I don’t have any record of him complaining of previous illness… best to run a full scan and see.” She got out her wand, and waved it over the boy’s unconscious form.

A piece of parchment appeared in the air above him with a pop!, and she reached forwards to take it. She began to look through it, but soon her eyebrows began to raise and she had to sit down onto a nearby bed.

“Merlin, Tom!” she breathed. “How did we miss all this?”

He strode to her side, leaning over to see what had her so horrified. A moment later he was echoing her words.

“Broken bones - mishealed - muscle tears - starvation? This cannot be!”

“But it is,” he whispered, looking in horror at the still form of the boy he had carried in.

The boy stirred, letting out a pained whimper. “Why is he hurt now?” Professor Riddle hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue.

Poppy Pomfrey scoured the parchment. “Oh Merlin - he’s got sepsis!”

“Sepsis. Sepsis. Sepsis! How did this happen?”

Tom knew it was bad because Poppy’s face was turning green. The mediwitch had a stomach of iron. Barely anything could cause that reaction in her.

“Repeated beatings to the back… bacterial infection… caused by - oh Merlin, living in horrid conditions - Merlin, Tom! His family!”

“His family? Family! His family did this to him?” Tom stood, Vanishing the boy’s robes. He was dressed in a tatty shirt that came to his knees, an enormous pair of jeans held around his waist - which was tiny, the boy looked emaciated - with a belt. Tom scowled and Vanished the rest of the boy’s clothes, revealing heavy scarring on the boy’s back. Some of the wounds were still open, scabs cracking and leaking pus.

Poppy stared for a moment. “I’ll get the potions he’ll need. We’ll have to have Severus make some specially, though..”

“Do it,” Tom said, setting his hand on the boy’s forehead. He was burning up, but shivering.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open, then closed again. Tom brought his hand away, worrying about the child, but that only had the boy whimpering more, crying out in wordless agony.

Tom reached for the boy’s hand, grasping it and squeezing reassuringly. The boy rolled towards his touch. He must not be thinking straight. 

Sepsis could do that. 

He kept one hand wrapped around Harry’s, the other stroking his too-warm forehead. He was still leaning over the boy when Poppy came back, arms full of vials and frowning Potions Master in tow.

“Has he woken up?” asked Poppy.

“He is awake,” Tom confirmed, “but how aware he is I’m not sure.”

“Severus, you see the situation,” Poppy said. “Sepsis. He was beaten before he arrived here, and the wounds are still somewhat open. At some point he developed sepsis, and… here we are.”

“Beaten!” snarled the Potions Master of Hogwarts. “Right, that’s it. We’ll have to remove him from wherever it is he’s living.”

Harry flinched at Severus’ raised tone. “You’re scaring him!” Poppy said. “Calm down.”

“Calm down!” Severus glared around the room at nothing in particular. “Calm down, she says! This child has been in an abusive home for years and none of us knew! We have not done our job as Professors. We have not done our duty as witches and wizards.”

“But we can do something now, Severus,” said Poppy. “It won’t do to dwell on the past now, when Harry needs us here.”

Harry rolled towards Tom, eyes once more fluttering open, like fragile wings on moths, unbalanced by an autumn breeze. This time, they stayed open.

The deep green eyes were expressionless, and the boy’s pallid face remained still and unmoving, but for his mouth, which moved slightly as he tried to speak.

“Pr’ff’ss’r Riddle,” he forced out. “‘M sorry…”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Tom said soothingly, brushing the boy’s hair back. “I’m the one who should be sorry for snapping at you earlier. I did not realize you were so ill and that your tiredness and seeming disrespect was, in fact, a symptom of sickness.”

“Mr. Potter why did you not come forward and tell someone you were being abused at home? Any of the Professors would have sufficed, and you stayed silent.”

Poppy rounded on Severus, who had spoken. “Severus! How dare you accuse the child! How dare you insinuate that his current situation is his fault! You of all people should know how harmful that is!”

Turning to the boy on the bed, she continued, “Harry, dear, don’t listen to him. Professor is just upset that we didn’t realize earlier, he doesn’t mean it.”

“‘M not ‘bused,” Harry slurred. “‘S not home either.”

“You won’t be going back there,” said Tom confidently, tightening his hold on the boy’s hand.

“But I have to,” the boy whispered. “It’s the only place I can go.”

Tom shook his head. “There will be another way. I promise you. If nothing else, you can stay with me. That offer will always be there if you need it.”

At last, some colour crept into the boy’s pale cheeks! “Thank you,” he said.

Tom ruffled his hair. “Mediwitch Pomfrey is just going to apply some salve to your back, and give you potions to drink, all right? I’m sure she has everything you need and even if she does not, Professor Snape can supply it quickly.”

Harry nodded. “”Kay.”

Poppy poured some salve out of a jar onto the boy’s injured back, and massaged it in. The boy groaned as she did so.

Tom realized it must hurt, so let the boy squeeze his hand. But Harry was weak, and his grip failed earlier than Tom would have expected from a sixteen year old boy - even one as malnourished as Harry.

“You’ll have to sit up now, dear,” said Poppy. Tom helped the boy sit, realizing as Harry flopped onto him, trembling, that this must be why he’d been lying with his head down. He had seemed awfully close to Granger and Weasley when he’d arrived, but Tom had had no idea…

He held onto the trembling boy, supporting his meagre weight. “Tom… can you give these to him?” Poppy asked, holding out a putrid green potion.

Tom nodded, taking it from her and bringing it to Harry’s lips. “Drink,” he told the boy, tipping the vial and pouring a bit into Harry’s mouth. The boy swallowed, but began to choke. Fluid dribbled down his chin.

Tom put his hand in front of Harry’s mouth, keeping the mouthful inside. “Swallow,” he whispered. Harry did.

He fed the rest of the green potion to Harry in this way, and then a further two potions, one bright yellow, one pale pink, beore the ebony-haired boy turned over.

“I don’ wan’ more!”

“Harry, you need to drink all the potions,” Tom told the resistant teenager. “All of them, not just the ones you’ve had.”

“Sick,” muttered Harry. “They make me sick.”

“You feel sick?” Tom asked, just to make sure.

Harry nodded.

“Poppy, is there anything you can do for that?” asked Tom.

“That depends,” said the mediwitch. “Is the nausea potion-induced, in which case Severus-”

“Got it.” said the Potions Master.

“-can doctor the recipe,” Poppy continued, “but if it’s because of the sepsis, which it can be, there’s not much I can do. Unfortunately the standard anti-nausea potions I keep on hand don’t work with the particular healing potion he needed. They cancel each other out. Severus, can you brew something that will work? I’ll give you the recipe I use.”

“I can do that,” said Severus. “Which doe he need?”

Poppy looked hopefully at Tom, who sighed, and adjusted the boy in his arms.

“Harry, can you tell me something?”

Harry mumbled something unintelligible. 

“Have you been feeling sick starting just now, or since before I brought you here?” he asked gently, pulling the boy closer as his trembling grew more intense. The boy definitely had a fever - but he was freezing.

“Since before,” mumbled Harry, squirming into the warmth of Tom’s skin.

Tom looked up at Severus. Severus nodded at him.

“I’m going to put you down now,” Tom told Harry, but the boy mewled pitifully and clung onto his robes with shaking hands. Had he been this bad when he’d come into Tom’s class earlier? 

A sneaking suspicion arose in his chest.

“Harry,” he murmured, “did you take a Pepper-up Potion?”

“Yeah,” said the Gryffindor. “Else people would stare. A-abnormal. ‘Tention bad.”

Tom tried to put Harry down again, but he would not have it. He’d attached to one safe thing in the room and it was his Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

“Go to sleep, Harry,” he told the boy, reclining on the bed himself, Gryffindor held to his chest. He pulled the duvet up around them both, making sure to arrange it around the sick boy’s shoulders to keep all the warmth possible in. 

“Should I cover for your classes?” asked Severus. Tom nodded.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting out of here for the rest of the day. Thank you, Severus.”

The Potions Master left, and Poppy waited, watching the two until Harry fell asleep, cradled against Tom’s firm, warm chest. She smiled at them, and was off to remove a splinter from a first-year’s finger. Life went on.

Harry slumbered, lost to it all, potions fighting the mess his body had made in response to an infection. 

Tom swore to himself, that Harry would have safety. Harry would get well.


End file.
